Chapter 28
The door to Ralvar's quarters—their quarters now—had barely closed behind them before his hands were on her.
Not demanding. Never demanding. But urgent in a way that made her breath catch, his fingers finding the laces at her back as his mouth found her throat.
"I've wanted to do this," he murmured against her skin, "since I saw you walk into that courtyard."
Delia laughed, the sound coming out breathless. "You were very restrained."
"I was barely holding myself together." His tusks grazed her pulse point, and she shivered. "Do you know what you looked like? Standing there in blue, with my mother's token around your neck, declaring yourself mine in front of everyone?"
"Tell me."
"Like everything I never let myself want." He found the first tie, loosened it. "Like the answer to a question I'd stopped asking."
The dress loosened around her shoulders, the fabric sliding down to catch at her elbows. She felt the cool air of the room against her newly bare skin, heard his sharp intake of breath as he stepped back to look at her.
"Beautiful," he said, the word rough with reverence.
She would have deflected once. Laughed it off or changed the subject. But that woman felt far away now, a stranger she'd left behind in the back of a wagon on a rain-soaked night.
Instead, she pushed the dress the rest of the way off, letting it pool at her feet in a whisper of blue. She stood before him in nothing but the bone totem against her skin, soft curves lit by the low firelight, and she wasn’t afraid.
His gaze devoured her—the heavy swell of her breasts, the plush curve of her belly, the generous flare of her hips. She watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched his cock twitch visibly in his trousers.
"Your turn," she said.
Understanding flickered in his amber eyes, followed quickly by something hotter.
He reached for the collar of his black tunic and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the broad expanse of his chest—the scars she'd traced with her fingers, the war marks she'd learned to read, the place where her stitches still held his flesh together.
The trousers followed. And then he stood before her as bare as she was, massive and green and scarred and hers, ridges already flexing along the thick length of him, the head glistening.
She closed the distance between them.
The first press of bare skin against bare skin made them both groan.
His hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly—she would never get used to that, how easily he moved her, how completely he ignored what human men would have called her size—and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her toward the bed.
But he didn't lay her down.
Instead, he stopped at the edge, holding her against him, his face buried in her hair. She felt him breathe deep, and he tensed.
"Ralvar?"
"You smell different." His voice dropped into a lower, rougher register. “Since this morning. Since the ceremony."
"Different how?"
Another deep inhale. His hands tightened on her hips, and she felt the tremor running through him.
"Fertile," he said. "You smell... ready."
Heat flooded through her that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
She'd known, on some level. Had felt the familiar signs her body gave her each month, had noticed the timing and pushed the thought aside because there was too much else happening. But hearing him say it—knowing his senses caught what hers could only guess—
"Is that something orcs can...?"
"Smell? Yes." His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. "No wonder every time I looked at you across that courtyard, all I could think about was—"
He cut himself off. His jaw clenched against her collarbone.
"Tell me," she whispered.
"Getting you alone. Taking you. Filling you until my scent is so deep in you that every orc in Northwatch knows exactly who you belong to."
Her whole body clenched at his words. "Ralvar—"
"I'm not suggesting—" He pulled back, meeting her eyes, want warring with care. "If you're not ready. If you don't want—children aren't something we have to—"
"Do you want them?"
The question stopped him. Emotions flickered across his face—hope, fear, longing so deep it made her chest ache.
"I never let myself think about it," he admitted.
"But yes. With you, yes. I want everything.
I want to watch your belly grow with my child.
I want to teach them to track and fight and carve bone.
I want to grow old with you in these mountains and know that when we're gone, something of us continues. "
Delia thought about the life she'd expected. A worksite in the frontier, endless labor, "accidents" that happened to workers who grew too weak. She'd expected to die young and unmourned, her body worn out by a system that saw her as nothing but labor to be extracted.
And now she was here. Wrapped around a man who loved her, in a home where she belonged, being asked if she wanted to create life.
"Yes," she said. "I want that too."
Joy and disbelief and hunger broke across his face. "Delia—"
"But first," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips, "I want you to stop holding back."
His eyes went dark. "What?"
"You've been so careful with me. So gentle. And I love that, I do. But we're bonded now." She leaned in, pressed her lips to his ear, and whispered: "Show me what you've been holding back."
The sound he made vibrated through his whole body and into hers.
Then she was moving, being turned in his arms, set on her feet at the edge of the bed. Palms flat to the thick furs, ass presented, back arched instinctively as he stepped behind her.
"Tell me if it's too much," he growled against the nape of her neck. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
His hand moved down her spine, over the curve of her hip, between her thighs. She gasped as his fingers found her already wet and aching and began to stroke.
"So ready," he murmured. "You're so ready for me. Can feel how much you want this."
"Please—"
“Not yet.” His fingers worked her slowly, two now, curling deep, thumb circling her clit in tight, merciless spirals. His other hand came around to cup her breast, pinching her nipple until she cried out. “I’ve been waiting all day. Let me enjoy this.”
She was trembling already, thighs shaking, hips rocking back onto his hand. The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her filled the room; she could hear how slick she was, how ready, and the knowledge only made her wetter.
“That’s it,” he rumbled into her hair. “Let me hear you. Let the whole damn settlement hear how wet my bond-wife gets for me.”
She broke with a cry she couldn't have muffled if she'd tried, pleasure crashing through her in waves that seemed to go on forever. His fingers stayed inside her through all of it, gentling but not withdrawing, letting her body clench around him as she rode it out.
"Good girl." The words were a rumble against her back. "My good girl."
She was still trembling when she felt him shift behind her, felt the blunt press of him where she needed him most, his size a promise of fullness that made her pulse with anticipation.
"Ready?"
"Yes. Ralvar, please, yes—"
He pressed forward.
The angle was devastating—deeper, fuller, stretching her in ways that made her gasp and push back for more. His hands gripped her hips, fingers sinking into soft curves as he worked himself inside inch by thick inch.
"So tight." His voice was barely recognizable. "So perfect. Made for me."
When he was fully seated, he held still for a heartbeat. She could feel the tremor in his hands, the raw effort of restraint.
Then his hand slid up her spine, tangled in her hair, and gently pulled.
Her back arched. Her head tipped back. And he began to move.
It was nothing like before.
He'd been careful with her every time—mindful of her inexperience, her size compared to his, the newness of everything between them. But this was different. This was him unleashing everything he'd held back, trusting her to take it, and she—
She loved it.
His pace was relentless. Each thrust drove deep and hard and exactly where she needed, the ridges along his length dragging in a way that sent sparks of ecstasy through her. The hand in her hair kept her arched against him while his other hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise.
She could hear herself—whimpers, moans, his name over and over like a chant—and she didn’t care who heard.
"Mine." The word came was a growl against her neck. "Say it."
"Yours—"
"Louder."
"Yours!"
His teeth closed on her shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark. The bright sting blended with the building pleasure, and she felt herself climbing fast toward another peak.
"Going to fill you," he ground out, his pace growing erratic. "Going to give you everything. Watch you grow round with my child. The most beautiful thing I'll ever see."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her harder than the first one, ripping through her in waves that made her scream as her cunt clamped down around him in brutal spasms. She screamed his name, hips bucking back to force him deeper.
Ralvar roared behind her, and she felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside. He ground against her through it, filling her until she felt the warmth overflow, dripping down her thighs and soaking the furs between them.
For a long moment the world was nothing but heat and heartbeat and the two of them locked together.
Later—much later—they lay tangled together in the furs.
Delia's head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns through the hair there. The bone totem had shifted during their activities and now lay pressed between their bodies, warmed by their shared heat.
"I should probably apologize to our neighbors," she murmured.
His chest vibrated with laughter. "Don't. You'll only embarrass them."
"I embarrassed myself."
"You were magnificent." He pressed a kiss to her palm. "Though I should warn you. Orc hearing is quite good. By morning, the whole settlement will know exactly how enthusiastic the captain's new bond-wife is."
She groaned and buried her face in his chest. "I'm never leaving this room again."
"That could be arranged. I'll have food sent."
"For how long?"
"Forever?" He said it lightly, but there was something real underneath. "I could happily spend the rest of my days in this bed with you."
"You'd get bored."
"Never." His arms tightened around her.
"What do we do now?" she asked. "Tomorrow, I mean. And the day after that. What does... normal look like?"
"Normal?" He considered the word. "You'll work at the tannery. I'll command the patrol. We'll eat meals together and sleep in this bed and occasionally scandalize the warriors with how often we sneak away in the middle of the day."
"That doesn't sound very captainly."
"I'm a bonded man now. I have priorities."
She snorted. "What about the humans? The guards, the magistrate, all of that?"
"Targesh sent them running, and they won't be back.
Castellan Vorn may rage, but he's a businessman.
He won't risk war over one contract." His jaw tightened.
"And if he does try something, he'll learn very quickly that I protect what's mine.
" His expression softened. "You're safe, Delia. Truly safe. That threat is over."
She let out a relieved breath. Somewhere underneath all the joy and desire and love, a small part of her had still been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"It's strange," she said slowly. "I spent so long being afraid. Running. Expecting disaster. And now..."
"Now?"
"Now I'm just... here. Happy. And I don't quite know what to do with that."
His arms tightened around her. "You don't have to do anything with it. Just feel it. Let yourself have it." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You've earned it."
Silence settled between them, comfortable and warm. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Outside, she could hear the distant sounds of the celebration still continuing: drums and laughter and voices raised in song.
Her people now. Her clan. Her home.
"Ralvar?"
"Mm?"
"I love you." Delia tilted her head to look at him. In the low firelight, his amber eyes gleamed with warmth she still wasn't entirely used to receiving.
"And I love you, Delia of Northwatch."
"It's Delia Stonefang," she corrected.
He went very still beneath her. "You don't have to—the clan doesn't require—"
"I want to. I choose to." She held his gaze. "I'm not running from Harrowmere anymore. I'm claiming Stonefang."
Words failed him. Instead, he pulled her closer, tucked her head under his chin, and held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Because to him, she was.
"Sleep," he murmured into her hair. "We have the rest of our lives to figure out what comes next."
So she did.
And for the first time she could remember, she dreamed of a future—warm and bright and full of promise—that she couldn't wait to live.